I listened and ruminated about El Presidente’s colon problem. I hope something gets botched in the process and he expires; or maybe one of the surgical staff happens to be in tune with doing the right thing and decides to forget everything he or she learned 2nd year pre-med.

I could go for a cheap laugh if it turns out El Presidente had to learn afterward how to sniff coke through his ass. (It’s not like he hasn’t had to already, the evidence hiding in his recent bit of leadership.)

Early this morning -- or, to much of the world’s theorizing when it comes down to What We Do, late late last night -- I sat in my room and almost downed an entire pint of vodka. Because I did not share, because I rather like getting soused on my own, because, well, really, there isn’t/wasn’t anyone around to get fookt with, this entails that I am an alcoholic. That’s what people want to believe; they don’t consider I may have just been writing or playing video games or trying to hold on to a single episode of “Three’s Company” before hurrying outside to dispatch my stomach’s contents audibly over the aloe vera stalks.

Must not try out for the hangover team anymore.

Rained again today, so I didn’t have to worry about what would be found.

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